


We're Dancing with the Demons In Our Minds

by C_RIE_ativity



Series: Heralds AU [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Stormlight Archive Fusion, Alternate Universe - Way of Kings Fusion, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Elves love Bilbo, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Bilbo Baggins, Intersex Hobbits, M/M, Nice Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, Overprotective Dwarves, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Torture, Worried Dwarves, heralds au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-03-23 05:31:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13780740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_RIE_ativity/pseuds/C_RIE_ativity
Summary: Long ago, when Morgoth was the greatest threat of Arda, Eru and the Valar found that the lands they had created through their tears and hardships would be in great need of protection. But whenever they thought of what would be the best protectors of Arda, they found themselves unable to find any they were willing to sacrifice to Morgoth’s grasp.In the end, their only option was to strike a bargain with Morgoth. In order to confine him to his realms, he was given beings which would keep him there as long as he had free reign to do as he pleased with the protectors the Valar had chosen. Though they knew that such a bargain was a great price to pay for the poor souls that would take the burden upon their backs.They soon found themselves in need of souls who would be willing to offer themselves to protect their kith and kin, but who would volunteer for such a sacrifice?For some time, the Valar found no answer to their problem until one day Yavanna stepped forward with a child of hers in tow.Basically a Heralds AU/Way of Kings AU kinda





	1. Deliver Us

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired from Brandon Sanderson’s Heralds from his story called Way of Kings which is the first book in the Stormlight Archive. Some of the lore building will not be one hundred percent following Brandon Sanderson’s lore and some will be my own bits of lore, so I do apologise for that.
> 
> Also, special thanks to my amazingly patient beta reader [DisKingOfErebor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisKingOfErebor/pseuds/DisKingOfErebor), for helping me through this cause heavens know that I need help with some parts of this fic! (No seriously, your patience with that one never ending word was awe-inspiring.)

_Help us now!_  
_This dark hour._  
_Deliver us!_  
_Hear our call, deliver us!_

* * *

Long ago, when Morgoth was the greatest threat of Arda, Eru and the Valar found that the lands they had created through their tears and hardships would be in great need of protection. But whenever they thought of what would be the best protectors of Arda, they found themselves unable to find any they were willing to sacrifice to Morgoth’s grasp.

In the end, their only option was to strike a bargain with Morgoth. In order to confine him to his realms, he was given beings which would keep him there as long as he had free reign to do as he pleased with the protectors the Valar had chosen. Though they knew that such a bargain was a great price to pay for the poor souls that would take the burden upon their backs.

They soon found themselves in need of souls who would be willing to offer themselves to protect their kith and kin, but who would volunteer for such a sacrifice? 

For some time, the Valar found no answer to their problem until one day Yavanna stepped forward with a child of hers in tow. His steps were strong and determined and his head held proudly high; he was aged, but they saw a fire in his eyes that they would not have found in others.

“Who are you?” Tulkas asked the hobbit. 

Sharp blue eyes stared at him for a few moments before answering. “I am called Bandobras Took, my lord.” He replied dutifully.

Smiling, Tulkas turned to Yavanna. “Did he volunteer?” His voice held an awe and silence to it that it normally would not have. 

Yavanna nodded her head. “Our first Herald.” 

And so it came to pass that their first protector was Bandobras Took, a hobbit with ice blue eyes and a smile brighter than the sun. They called him a Herald, for he sang of a hope that they had only ever dreamed of seeing— and with his coming, the Valar gifted him items that they hoped would be of use against Morgoth. 

The Smith of the Valar, Aulë, was the first, gifting Bandobras with a blade capable of cutting through hard stone as if it was nothing but paper, and slice through gems as if they were grass. An Honourblade, he called it, and it was infused with magic that had been bound to the hobbit’s soul.

Bandobras wielded his Honourblade with pride when he first summoned it, the blade glistening with dew drops as mist gathered around it.

Along with the Honourblade, Aulë had also gifted the hobbit a suit of armour. A Shardplate, it was called; no blade nor beast could pierce it. As with the Honourblade, this too could be summoned when needed. He accepted both gifts and soon learned to wield both with ease.

The next gift was from Queen Varda, who bestowed upon him the gift of Surgebinding.

He was taught Division and Abrasion —both of which he excelled at— as well as a bit of Gravitation.

From Lord Námo and the Ladies Yavanna and Estë, he was gifted with a life that was on a never ending cycle as long as the Dark Lord yet lived 

Oromë gave him speed that could match the wind.

Finally, Yavanna gifted him the ability that every hobbit had; an affinity with nature and the ability to recognise many different herbs at a glance. This had been given in the hopes that he would find use for such a gift were he to be injured and in need of healing.

Out of all these gifts, his Honourblade, Shardplate, and Surgebinding were his favourite gifts.

Before he left, he had made an Oathpact to the Valar that he would not abandon his duties as a Herald. With these gifts he went off to face the Dark Lord alone, ready to uphold the deal that the Valar made.

* * *

It was a simple bargain and Morgoth took great pains to ensure he would be able to relish every waking moment he had the Herald in his clutches. Everyday was a fresh new torment, a fresh new idea from the Dark Lord, and he would always make sure that his servant Mairon joined in on the tormenting.The Valar could only watch from beyond as their first Herald struggled to cope with the pain; they prayed he was strong enough to continue with this cycle for he was the only one that had stepped up.

He was the only one, until a King stepped forward. 

Aulë recognised his children and this one in particular, he knew immediately. “Durin.” He breathed out, taking but a few short strides to greet him halfway with an embrace and thanks.

“I heard tell of a volunteer and I wish to offer myself as another to uphold your bargain.” Durin said by way of greeting to his maker. Aulë nodded and gestured for him to come forward to Tulkas who in turn embraced and thanked him as well. He was then given the same gifts as Bandobras, but for his own Surgebinding, he was given something else. He was taught Transportation and Transformation. He used sparingly, opting to use the blade and armour his Maker had crafted for him instead.

With Durin’s joining, Bandobras was no longer alone.

* * *

It had been a century since Durin had joined and a century and a half since Bandobras had joined and both they and the Valar no longer expected another to step forward.

That was, of course, when not one, but two had come forth. 

The first was an elf with hair as bright as the sun, his pale eyes shining under the light and giving off the impression of glowing. The other was another hobbit, one whose bore a strong resemblance to Bandobras. 

They walked into the Valar’s Halls hand in hand and bowed low upon reaching Manwë’s throne.

“I am Glorfindel, my Lords and Ladies.” The elf announced simply.

“And I am Bilbo Baggins.” The hobbit had smiled at the Valar before lowering his gaze to the marble floor. 

They need not speak anything else for Tulkas immediately knew what they had come to say. “You wish to volunteer?” The nods he had received was answer enough.

Two more Heralds had joined that day and like with the first two, each had been given their own Honourblade and Shardplate. Both had been given the other gifts of the Valar as well and were taught Surgebinding by Varda. When all was said and done, they were embraced, thanked, and sent on their way.

* * *

The Valar took no joy in seeing their Heralds tortured or hearing their prayers filled with anguish, but they saw the clever tactics their Heralds used. How when one was growing too weary of their hurts, another would distract Morgoth or his servant Mairon long enough for their tired comrade to breathe. 

They could only hope that this tactic would be effective for a long time.

They were not expecting for a lady well advanced in her years to step forward, her head held high. “I wish to offer myself, I am Haleth.” She was fierce, proud, and strong both in her words and in the way she held herself.

The Valar found that they were unable to deny this woman the title of Herald, for she held the very essence of that title in her being. She was given her own Honourblade and Shardplate and she was known as Haleth Lightweaver: she who walked into the hands of the Dark Lord with proud strides and a posture as proud as any queen.

She offered reprieve for the four Heralds who were weary with pain and she bore the pain without complaints. This Herald, from what the Valar had seen, was fond of taunting Morgoth and cursing at him. It amused them to no end whenever they heard a fresh insult leave her lips and they were in awe at how fearless their female Herald was.

* * *

The next to become a Herald was Eärendil the Mariner, who had stepped forward and had admitted that he wished to offer succour to the suffering Heralds.

While hesitant, the Valar had seen that his intent was true and granted him the title of Herald. They took their time to have him say the Oath that Bandobras had begun and ensured that he understood what was required of him. When all was said and done, they had given him his Honourblade and Shardplate and bade him be careful.

When Eärendil arrived, it was to an eerie silence filling Morgoth’s lair and though he felt unease, he still continued onwards. He was expecting to hear the screams of his fellow Heralds, but instead found them hanging in chains, bleeding and battered, and his first instinct was to bring down the first two Heralds he laid eyes upon. He healed them as best he could before taking their place when Morgoth arrived, unknowing that he was the first among his comrades to grant any of the Heralds a chance to escape.

* * *

When Morgoth was thrown into the Timeless Void, the Heralds thought themselves freed from their Oathpacts but this was not to be. They could still feel their Oathpacts’ solidity in them and they could still feel something that warned them of another coming darkness. The Heralds were wary but they decided to seek their short freedom out and relish their days in the sun while they could.

It was not for a long while that the Heralds would be needed and they took their freedom with eager hands and laughter in their voices. 

Eärendil had rushed back home to see his family, having grown to miss his children greatly. Haleth had opted to wander Arda to see its changes. Bilbo Baggins had wept upon feeling the sun’s warmth touch his skin. Glorfindel had fallen upon his knees in relief and thanked the Valar for the reprieve. Durin and Bandobras, having escaped when Eärendil had freed them, had sought out their fellow Heralds to invite them to their wedding, wanting to make their celebration as joyous as possible.

The Heralds had stayed in the Shire for a month’s worth of celebration where they slowly learned what laughter felt like and what innocence truly appeared to be. Durin told their fellow Heralds of tales about Bandobras’ people and spoke with great animation on how kind the Children of the West were.

Some say Haleth outdrank Durin and even Glorfindel; she had even hired a hobbit to create a sketch of Durin and Glorfindel passed out underneath the Party Tree. 

Some also say that Glorfindel allowed the hobbit children —faunts, as Bandobras and Bilbo called them— to braid his fair hair with colourful flowers and ribbons, and that Eärendil had brought his sons along and had coaxed them to play with the children of the Shire while he spoke to the parents of the simplest things.

Some would claim that Bilbo Baggins was late to the wedding with tears in his eyes and that a kindly old hobbit lass had told Bandobras that his great-grandnephew had visited his parents’ graves and that Bandobras must not be cross with the poor lad. That Bandobras had assured the hobbit lass that he was not cross. After all, Bilbo had not seen his parents in many years and by the time Bandobras had returned, Belladonna and Bungo had already passed.

Durin had been the one to offer comfort to Bilbo after their wedding. But Bilbo, ever stubborn, had put on false bravado and assured them he was well and good. Bandobras was only glad that Durin —who was reincarnated as female in this life, dear Eru— was as stubborn as they were kind. By the end of the night, Bilbo wept and allowed Durin to embrace him tightly.

After the celebration of Durin and Bandobras’ union, the Heralds went on their own way to see what had changed, what they had missed, and how they could spend their time as best they could.

During their peace, Durin and Bandobras had children and grandchildren and even beyond that. Bilbo Baggins had managed to regain control over his family home, Bag End. And Haleth had learned of many new things that had taken place in Arda. 

During that time, word spread to the Heralds that Eärendil was no longer with them and that Elrond, one of his sons, had replaced his father as the Edgedancer of the Heralds, and that Glorfindel had taught Elrond all that was needed to be known. 

It would not be until a millennia and a half into the Second Age that they would dream of the Valar urging them to go back to Mordor, and when they dreamt of that message, many wept. 

Though some had cried out in anguish and fear, the Heralds understood their orders and with heavy hearts they left their kith and kin behind, promising that they would be back someday. 

Bandobras had embraced each of his descendants while Durin fretted over the little ones and assured them they would be back. Glorfindel watched as Elrond bade his loved ones goodbye before they both rode away, their horses galloping with a speed not many could match. Bilbo Baggins bade his gardener —who was descended from his parents’ gardeners— to watch over his home and to keep it safe while he was away. Haleth greeted them when they had neared Mordor.

With their hands clasping one another, they had walked back into the darkness where they were greeted by one who they had known to have fled before their Master was defeated; their new tormentor was Sauron, and he greeted them with a warmth they knew was false.

* * *

Through the many years, the Heralds suffered once more and every day they would do the best they could to cope, but Durin had seen that Bilbo was breaking bit by bit and Bandobras had seen Glorfindel growing too weary.

They saw two of their number crumbling under the Oathpacts they had made and it was in that instant that Durin and Bandobras recalled what Eärendil had done for them many years ago. With a single thought and a half-baked plan, Durin and Bandobras asked for Haleth and Elrond’s aid in distracting Sauron to help Bilbo and Glorfindel escape.

That was the second escape that had ever been made.

This time it was not accidentally brought upon, but planned and given with desperation and a great deal of urging to Bilbo and Glorfindel, who insisted that they could still manage the pain they received daily from Sauron.

When the two had run from Mordor, they gave a final glance at their comrades and a weak but thankful smile.

* * *

The next to become a Herald was Thranduil; this was in the days that the Valar’s Halls had become inaccessible to all and the Valar had chosen Thranduil as a Herald upon his father’s death. 

In his sleep, Irmo had visited Thranduil and had told him tales of the six Heralds, speaking  
of their trials and torture, and how they fought against darkness and would return to serve as a distraction for that darkness to stay away from the Free Peoples of Middle Earth. Then, Irmo had offered that same title to Thranduil, who agreed, wanting to keep his people safe from harm and to prevent children from losing their parents too early like he had.

The next day, he abruptly summoned an Honourblade into his hands and he had fought against the Dark forces once more. He was slain in battle and when he woke, he was in chains beside a Halfling who looked at him with a tired smile, blood staining his teeth.

“A pleasure to meet you.” The halfling rasped out. 

Thranduil could only stare before bowing his head to the halfling in greeting. “I wish we could have met under circumstances where I can say it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well.” He admitted with a bit of shame.

The halfling chuckled before wincing. “You will learn to take pleasure in new faces, especially when it had been a fair while since a new face has greeted you.” Thranduil furrowed his brow in confusion. “It had been a long time since I had seen my descendants, much less my great-grandnephew.” The halfling said simply.

“We can only pray that Bilbo and Glorfindel are alright.” 

Thranduil recognised the woman that had spoken; he had seen portraits of her. “You are Haleth.” He spoke with awe. 

Haleth laughed, her voice hoarse but holding an amusement that Thranduil could not fathom where it had come from. “Indeed I am, and you are a new addition to our number.” 

Thranduil nodded. “Thranduil Oropherion.” He met Haleth’s calm gaze and then the weary gaze of Bandobras.

“I am Bandobras Took,” The halfling jerked his head to the side and Thranduil strained to see who he gestured to, “and this is my husband, Durin.” 

“I am Elrond, son of Eärendil.” Said another, Thranduil looked at the elf that had spoken and he bowed his head.

“I was told there were more of your number, but I count only four.” 

Bandobras smiled. “My great-grandnephew, Bilbo Baggins, Stoneward and Glorfindel Skybreaker.” He confirmed Thranduil’s assumption, but Thranduil did not understand. “We had bade them run to where the sun can greet them and so they ran.” Bandobras said simply.

It was through this that Thranduil learned more of the Heralds, that he grew attached to Bandobras and found himself growing close to Durin, who would assure him that the fear he felt was natural.

And when Bilbo Baggins and Glorfindel had suddenly appeared in front of him with haunted eyes, he did not ask what happened. He only greeted them the same way Bandobras had greeted him. “A pleasure to meet you.”

* * *

A third escape had been planned by Thranduil —who had grown to care for his comrades— this time for Bandobras, Durin, and Elrond.

Thranduil and Haleth noted the weariness of the three, Bilbo fretted over his great-granduncle’s wellbeing, and Glorfindel would always attempt to speak to Elrond who was slowly withdrawing into himself as the days passed.

It was in the silence after their torture that Thranduil summoned his Honourblade and threw it across to Bandobras’ chains, watching as the blade easily broke the chains. The next was Bilbo who threw his Honourblade to cut Durin’s bindings. Finally, Glorfindel broke Elrond’s chains, and Haleth kept watch for Sauron’s appearance as they bid their freed comrades farewell.

Their punishment the next day was severe and haunted all of them for all time. Thranduil was burned to the point that his injuries remained in his very soul, Bilbo had his tongue cut and healed multiple times while his stomach was cut open for Sauron to pull his innards out. Glorfindel was continuously blinded and healed, his mouth having been sewn shut. And Haleth was constantly brutalised and maimed beyond recognition.

But Thranduil found no regrets in his actions— none of their number did.

Everyone must have days in the sun and if this was the price, then so be it.

* * *

Two more Heralds were chosen; Herumor and Eärnur. Not much can be said of them, but that Eärnur dreamt of the Valar speaking to him, speaking of many things about protection and Heralds that struggled to protect their kinsmen and the Free Peoples. Herumor on the other hand, dreamt of the Valar speaking of guides and of the possibility of keeping his people safe. Both agreed to the simplest words about the Heralds but they both had meant well.

Eärnur and Herumor met when they were journeying to Mordor and struck up a friendship each other. They spoke animatedly of their dreams and vowed to protect one another so that they may reach their destination to speak with the others of their number, but betrayal loomed high on the horizon.

Sauron came into Herumor’s dream and spoken of the weakness of the Heralds, of the escape of Durin, Bandobras, and Elrond, and of their cowardice. Sauron sang songs of power and assured survival to Herumor, and Herumor had been swayed by the Dark Lord’s beautiful lies. It was in this that Herumor fell from grace. He was a Herald still, but a disgraced one.

Upon reaching Mordor, Eärnur turned to his friend with fear bright in his eyes and held his hand out to Herumor, who took hold of Eärnur’s hand and offered a false smile. “We shall be well.” Herumor assured Eärnur, who nodded and walked into Sauron’s Halls with a confidence that he would be alright so long as Herumor, his good friend, was by his side. But when they entered the dungeons where their comrades were, Eärnur froze at the sight of Sauron, seated upon a throne, smiling at them with a predatory smile.

“Herumor, I see you have come here.” Sauron spoke with a false kindness, a false comfort, and Eärnur looked at his friend in trepidation.

Herumor looked at him and —for a brief moment— Eärnur thought his friend was going to battle Sauron. But Herumor only smiled at him and shoved him in front of Sauron, forcing Eärnur to kneel. “You are my Master, I am under your orders and your bidding. I shall follow with eagerness.” Herumor spoke aloud and he was filled with pride when he saw the betrayal in Eärnur's eyes and heard the outraged cries of the Heralds who were so weak that they would allow their comrades to escape.

Sauron smiled with satisfaction and beckoned he come closer. “Herumor, chain your companion. We shall be playing with them later.” 

With a bow, Herumor dragged Eärnur to the wall where chains were hanging and looked remorselessly into Eärnur’s eyes. “I apologise, my friend, but this is something that is far more important than protection.” Herumor leaned close to Eärnur and placed a soft kiss upon his friend’s cheek, “Take this as a sign of our short friendship.” He murmured.

Herumor ignored the hatred and hurt in Eärnur’s eyes and walked away from his comrades and sat beside Sauron, who spoke so eagerly of the new world that the Dark Lord had been planning. 

He was given a realm and a title.

Herumor, in every moment, enjoyed what had been given to him. He was the Witch-King of Angmar and this title he held with pride.

* * *

Eärnur’s hatred for his friend was strong but he wept bitterly at his foolishness. Bilbo had comforted him and Thranduil had assured him that this betrayal would not go unpunished. 

“I wish to give this punishment to Herumor myself.” Eärnur spat out, his grey eyes flashing in anger. 

Glorfindel sighed. “We must not let our anger and hurt blind us, Eärnur.” The Gondolindrim elf said with a weariness he had long felt in his body. “Though we understand your pain, we must not allow anything to blind us from our paths.”

It was in this that Eärnur had taken comfort; Glorfindel constantly spoken to him, assured him that all was well even when it was a lie, told him of tales when Glorfindel was free.

When Bandobras abruptly appeared in front of Eärnur, already clasped in chains, he saw the halfling’s heartbreak and anguish. He felt no anger at Bandobras for escaping, but felt a sadness that the halfling was torn from what could have been a peaceful life.

“We were found by Orcs.” Bandobras whispered, his blue eyes shone with unshod tears, “I wanted to keep Durin safe.” His voice cracked and he bowed his head, sobbing bitterly. 

Eärnur leaned forward the best he could, wincing as an injury of his sharpened to the point of being blinded by the pain. “All will be well, brother.” He whispered out.

* * *

The next escape was for Thranduil, planned by Bilbo and Haleth, who had grown attached to him. They had seen him craving to go back home to his wife and son and they understood his desperation so they had asked for Eärnur’s help, as well as Glorfindel’s and Bandobras’, all of whom agreed to aid them in Thranduil’s escape.

It was when Herumor came to see how they fared that their plan came into action. Eärnur acted in rage and broke his chains with his Honourblade to distract Herumor while Bilbo broke his own chains to rush over to Thranduil. Thranduil had rasped out a thanks before Bandobras urged him to flee.

None of them knew that Thranduil’s wife had passed while protecting their son from Orcs.

* * *

The punishments dealt to them was something they chose not to speak of. All that they would say was that they were separated for a time as unspeakable things were done to them.

No one was there to comfort them.

Not even to share in their agony.

No one was there to even console them as they recovered from their hurts.

* * *

It was in the Battle of Azanulbizar that the Valar found their final Herald. A young Dwarrow with fair hair that flowed like molten gold, smiling and laughing with his brother as they prepared for war.

Frerin, son of Thráin, the Sun of Erebor’s People.

They found in him a courage and a willingness to defend his people and in that moment they urged Irmo to come to Frerin’s dreams. They were not expecting the Dwarrow to kneel in front of the Lord of Lórien and gaze at him with a seriousness he had lacked with his brother. “Whatever it is you ask of me, I shall follow you with my very soul.” So taken aback was Irmo that he had knelt down to embrace and thank the young dwarf prince.

In that dream, Frerin was told of the Heralds, of their mission and Oath, of their escapes and their lives. Frerin learned of Durin and Bandobras, who had fallen in love under the most unlikely circumstances, he was told of Bilbo Baggins who was a silvertongue by nature, of Glorfindel whose laughter came easily despite the years of torment, of Thranduil who was fair and just, of Eärnur who had been betrayed, of Haleth who was brave and unyielding, and of Elrond who comforted whenever comfort was sought after. In these stories, Frerin found himself agreeing to Irmo’s request even more.

“Will this make my family safe?” He asked softly. 

Irmo nodded. “From greater evils? Yes.” 

Frerin then no longer doubted his decision, if he ever had any sort of doubt in him to begin with. “If they shall be safe, then I accept.”

Irmo smiled and thanked the dwarf prince once more.

The next day, Thorin, Second of his name, Son of Thráin, was shocked to see his brother walk among the ranks wearing an armour he knew Frerin did not possess, an ornate sigil emblazoned upon his breastplate. In his brother’s hand was a blade as unique as the armour, glistening with droplets of water, and he watched his brother walk with a grimness that was not present in Frerin the day before.

Thorin had taken that as a good omen.

* * *

Frerin was felled by Azog, who recognised a Herald the moment his gaze fell upon one. He had been gutted and thrown to the side, choking on his own blood and convulsing in pain. The last thing he heard was his brother shouting out his name before silence and darkness took him.

When he awoke, he was in chains beside a copper-haired halfling who looked at him with a somber smile. “A new addition.” The halfling commented softly before coughing.

Frerin watched in horror as the halfling spat out blood, the detached fascination the halfling had when he saw his own blood was jarring for the young Dwarrow.

“'Tis nothing to worry about,” The halfling said simply, “this is common here.” Frerin wanted to argue, to ask why the halfling was so calm about the fact that blood had just been spat out by him rather than fretting.

Then he remembered— they were Heralds.

Death did not touch them like the others.

“You will grow accustomed to this.” A soft voice said. 

Frerin looked around and found an elf with pale hair watching him.

“I am Glorfindel.” The elf said with a bow of his head.

“Frerin, son of Thráin.” The dwarrow replied swiftly. 

The pale haired elf smiled and nodded. “A pleasure to meet you.”

It was in this that Frerin met Bilbo, Eärnur, Haleth, and Bandobras, who welcomed and comforted him.

“It is good to see a descendant of mine, it had been a while.” Bandobras smiled, and yet Frerin saw a sadness in those mischievous eyes that unnerved him.

“I did not realise that my ancestor would be a halfling.” He was met with groans and some hisses that indicated he had said something wrong.

“Hobbit.” Frerin looked at the copper haired halfling —hobbit— who was eyeing him sharply.

“We are not half of anything.” Bandobras explained gently. Frerin flushed at the realisation he may have insulted his comrades, but he saw Bilbo smile and shake his head.

“You lot keep calling us Halflings when you first meet us, I'll never understand why.” 

Frerin promised not to do it again.

* * *

It had been half a century since Frerin became a Herald and he could not recall when he last felt anything other than a blinding pain. He had been the distraction for the Heralds when all was quiet and he would tell them tales of when he was still with his kin.

It was during a particular tale of the time he had Thorin stand in as a mannequin for Dís’ surprise name day gown that he'd heard Bilbo make a request that left him pondering on escape.

“It has been so long since I've seen the sun, could you tell us of any adventuring you did as a youth?” Frerin looked at Bilbo, aghast at the thought of hobbits —who he'd found out loved the sunlight— not being able to see the sun in many years. So he changed his tale to the time when he and Thorin had snuck out of the palace to go to Dale and to play with the children under the sun’s glare. The fair haired dwarrow took great pains to describe the warmth of the sunlight to Bilbo so that the hobbit could imagine the sensation himself and when all was said and done, Frerin watched as Bilbo grew silent in thought.

That was how Frerin decided to plan an escape.

He watched each of his companions to see who was in need of the escape and had seen that Bandobras, Glorfindel and Bilbo were the worst off. He asked Eärnur and Haleth for their aid and they agreed. Frerin offered Haleth the chance to escape as well but she assured him that she did not mind staying, and so the three had made a plan, not knowing that Bilbo, Glorfindel, and Bandobras had made a plan to help Frerin, Haleth, and Eärnur to escape as well.

* * *

When the time came for their escape, Frerin made the first move, slipping free of his chains by cutting through the iron links. It was with great surprise that he found Glorfindel kneeling on the ground, Honourblade in hand.

“Oh good, you are already making your escape.” Frerin smiled brightly at the fact that now he would not have to cut through one set of chains, but Glorfindel only looked at him before shaking his head.

“I was about to say the same thing.” He confessed, Frerin frowned. “I'm helping you escape.” Glorfindel explained carefully. 

Frerin shook his head. “No.” Glorfindel opened his math to protest but the dwarf prince scowled. “You, Master Baggins, and Master Took need the freedom. You need your days in the sun and your days of peace once more.” Frerin growled out, taking hold of Glorfindel by the shoulders and shaking him gently. 

“I am young and new, I can bear this pain. Haleth is strong, she has shown such and she would eviscerate you if you attempted to insist that you are well. Eärnur has insisted as well that you and the others are to be freed.” He watched as emotions battled one another in Glorfindel’s mind and smiled when the elf let out a sigh.

“Very well, but Bilbo will not be pleased.” 

Frerin shrugged. “You three need to see the sun.” Was his only answer before he ran to Bilbo and broke the copper-haired hobbit’s chains. He waved away Bilbo’s confusion and ran to Bandobras, who he freed as well.

He knew they would protest at this point but Frerin only looked at them with a glare that warned them to think over their words carefully. Bilbo was about to speak but then closed his mouth and nodded before rushing to embrace Frerin, whispering words of thanks that Frerin waved off.

After he had seen to Bilbo and the others’ escape, Frerin smiled to himself. He knew punishment awaited them, but he was glad their freed companions would finally get to see the sun again. He could only pray for the best for each of them, even the ones he had not yet met.


	2. Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo meets Gandalf, not for the first time, the adventure is proposed and Bilbo just doesn't want any part of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's chapter two to the fic and I hope you guys enjoy this! Special thanks to [DisKingOfErebor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisKingOfErebor/pseuds/DisKingOfErebor) for being an amazing beta! Also, a bit of a warning but Gandalf is slightly a dick in some chapters. 
> 
> Please don't kill me. ;;

_I'm here again_  
_A thousand miles away from you_  
_A broken mess, just scattered pieces of who I am_  
_I tried so hard_  
_Thought I could do this on my own_  
_I've lost so much along the way_

* * *

 

He always woke up screaming.

 

It had been like that for some time now.

 

In his dreams, he would hear anguished screams and the sound of flesh being torn as the scent of blood filled his home— and when he woke, he woke with bile burning its way up his throat and his whole body quaking. No matter how accustomed he was to his night terrors, he would always wake up trembling and _so cold_ — even when the sun had already risen high in the sky and warm light bathed his parlour in its golden glow, he still felt _cold_.

His breath and body shook, suppressed panic threatening to burst out and claim him from just one wrong word, one wrong action. Sitting up slowly he began making his bed, his hands spasming as he struggled to fold the bed sheets; the soft sheets repeatedly slipping through his uncoordinated fingers. He attempted to force some calm into himself by taking as deep a breath as he was capable of, but found that he could not take even a short breath without choking on the very air he needed.

With great effort, he moved to his kitchen and began his daily ritual of preparing tea for himself in an effort to banish the memories of the past despite knowing that his efforts were for naught.

In many things lurked a memory that was either good or bad. In many things, he found a memory that threatened to take his breath away and to fill him with great fear. The smallest action or the shortest word could have such drastic effects upon him that it was only by miracles that he even found the courage to leave his doorstep without expecting to be attacked. Every day he lived with the fear of something breaking his self control. He feared that one day he would become mad with fear— and that he may hurt someone that he'd grown to care for deeply. He feared that one day he would have to leave the only sanctuary he'd grown to depend upon.

It had been nearly a century since he had received his freedom, but even near a thousand years was too short a time for him. It _always_ felt too short for anyone who had gone through the centuries of what he and his comrades had gone through.

Forcing himself to breathe past the phantom scent of blood, he squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to focus on his surroundings.

 

He was in Bag End.

 

He was **_safe_**.

 

He was preparing tea— and then he would sit outside to have a smoke on his bench, maybe even chat with Hamfast if he could work up the courage to walk past his doorstep and visit his gardener’s family.

 

**No one** was screaming.

 

There were no hands **tearing** at his skin or **eviscerating** him.

 

No branding irons were **burning** the back of his neck.

 

There were no blades aimlessly **carving into** his flesh.

 

There was **_nothing_**.

 

His home was as silent as a tomb and that was **_fine_**.

 

In his opinion, the silence was better than the waking nightmare that he had grown accustomed to experiencing anyway.

 

* * *

 

After he'd prepared his tea, he found himself capable of only taking a small sip of it before losing interest in it.

He set his cup down and looked at his reflection in the dark liquid. He looked no different than his people did, but there was an emptiness to his eyes despite the brightness they held— his blank face was a far more common sight than his smiles and when he held something, his hands no longer had the steadiness they once did.

“Have you really forgotten what true safety felt like?” He softly whispered at his reflection, his breath hitching as he spoke.

 

His reflection had no answer.

 

It never did.

 

With a sigh, he picked up his cup and poured its now-cold contents down his drain, having grown tired of his kitchen’s silence.

 

* * *

 

For him, smoking was a welcome distraction. It dulled his senses and made him feel at peace— even if it was for just a few moments. The pipeweed he favoured was the most potent and he always purchased a barrel of it to supply him for at least a week or two for him to be able to escape the nightmares that plagued his every waking moment. Sitting on his bench, letting the sharp sweet scent of his flowers surround him, and occasionally taking in a puff from his pipe was the closest Bilbo could get to a peaceful day.

Oftentimes, his mind was a hurricane of thoughts screaming to be heard; each unacknowledged memory begging to be brought to light.

He sat there taking the few precious moments of calm pipeweed gave him to escape his own mind; he let out the puff he'd taken in, watching the smoke ring rise up into the sky before closing his eyes and letting out a soft sigh. Leaning back, he basked in the sunlight as it caressed his skin and offered him a warmth that did not **burn** or **brand** but instead _soothed_ and _calmed_.

He'd only closed his eyes for a few moments when he suddenly felt something hit his face. He coughed and opened his eyes, waving away the scent of smoke as he looked for the source.

_It smelled of smoke and the darkness offered no source for the scent. All he knew was that he could not breathe and that the scent was leeching all of the air from his lungs._

As far as he knew, there should not have been anyone who would blow smoke back at him.

_He screamed out as an unseen fire burned the soles of his feet and_ _struggling against the chains, snarling out insults as he fought to keep himself conscious as well as to keep the attention of his captors only on him._

He would have called himself mad had he not seen a figure looking at him in amusement.

_Eyes like embers always watched him in fascination, a mocking smile always upon their lips._

_“My dear, Bilba.” The figure would purr, claw-like fingers tilting his face up; a face of frightful beauty looked back at him mockingly._

“My dear Bilbo.”

Something in Bilbo’s chest convulsed painfully as he heard his name called and he nearly bent over in agony before he casting a wary look at the newcomer.

“Good morning.” The innocent expression on the wizard’s face was no comfort to Bilbo as too many memories of ember eyes and mocking endearments flooded his mind, leaving him breathless with fear.

“What do you want now, Olórin?” The hobbit nearly snarled out, his grip on his pipe tightening. He tapped out the ashes from his pipe and stood up to look at the grey wizard properly.

The Maia spluttered and looked as if Bilbo had pulled the rug from underneath his feet. Ignoring the wizard, “Can I not simply visit a friend when it suits me?”

Bilbo snorted; he would have appreciated a visit from a friend many times in the past years but he doubted he could count _Gandalf the Grey_ as a friend he would seek a visit from— Disturber of the Peace that he is. “Your last visit was the Fell Winter,” Bilbo pointed out. He meant it to be a gentle reminder, but his tone held a sharp bite to it that he did not expect it to have, “and when you came, you were too late.”

Before Gandalf could do more than open his mouth, Bilbo was harshly waving away the words. “Don't.” He spat out. “Just. Don't.” His voice held a venom in it that he always fought to hide, but now that the dams had burst, he found that he could not stop himself from speaking what he felt he needed to say. For many years he'd kept so much anger, exhaustion, and fear in him that to let it go in that moment was freeing in a way. “Do you know how many children were orphaned that day? How many parents lost their sons and daughters? How many _lives_ were _lost_?”

The wizard remained silent and Bilbo shook his head. “You were too late and I was the only one that time,” His voice had grown softer, “Bullroarer had gone off to search for his husband and I was the only one. I had to hold _so many_ bodies; so many of them were just asking for _comfort_ and I could not even give _that_ to them.” Bilbo’s voice broke and he grew silent as he fought to ignore the memories of all the bodies he'd held and attempted to comfort, but one had surfaced despite his attempts and all he could see for a few moments was the Shire buried in snow,  blood staining the pristine lands.

_“M-Mister Bilbo, Sur?” Bilbo held Hamson, who looked at him with wide unseeing eyes, and he choked back a sob as his eyes roamed the lad’s maimed body._

_The lad’s legs had been mangled beyond recognition and he was certain that his calf was only attached to his thigh by just veins now. Blood pooled around Hamson like a cloak of red and even his hair had been stained with his own blood. The metallic scent of the liquid made Bilbo want to retch._

_“All will be well, Hamson.” Bilbo whispered, his breath hitching as he fought to control himself. He forced a reassuring smile upon his face as he ran a hand through Hamson’s bloodied curls in an attempt to comfort the lad. “Gandalf is coming with aid. The elves will be able to heal you.” He could only try to stop the bleeding for now and he didn't know how much time he bought for the lad before Hamson succumbed to his wounds._

_He was no Edgedancer that could heal others as easily as they breathed, and it frustrated him that he could do_ **_nothing_ ** _to help Hamfast’s son._

_Hamson shook his head and smiled, though his gaze remained unfocused, “‘This’ll be fine, Sur.” The youth responded with a weak shrug, “Least we got everyone safe, right?”_

_Bilbo nodded and looked around the bloodied lands, “We got everyone safe, Hamson.” He confirmed, hoping that this would comfort the lad; the younger hobbit smiled and closed his eyes._

_“I'm tha’ glad, Sur.” Were Hamson’s final words to Bilbo before he let out a final breath._

_Bilbo did not even realise he was sobbing until he saw his tears falling onto Hamson’s cheek. It was with great difficulty that he brought the lad’s corpse to his father_ — _Bilbo could never look into Hamfast Gamgee’s eyes after that day._

An uneasy silence had fallen between them, both being haunted by what they assumed were their own shortcomings. Bilbo was thankful when Gandalf cleared his throat and freed the hobbit from the chaos of his own mind.

“It was never my intention to arrive late that time, Bilbo.” Gandalf whispered out. When Bilbo looked at him sharply, Gandalf shook his head. “The passes were closed and I had to find a way around those obstacles. It was a miracle that Elladan, Elrohir, and I even got to the Shire when we did.”

Bilbo sighed; fighting would do them no good anymore. He knew that to be true— and yet a part of him still resented the wizard for what had happened. One life. Even just _one life_ could have been saved if they'd arrived sooner. “I understand.” Bilbo spoke with difficulty, slowly moving his lips to sound out the words he fought to say.

Shaking his head to rid himself of his dark thoughts, he looked at Gandalf and forced a smile upon his face. “Now, if I may ask, what is this visit about?”

Gandalf looked at the hobbit warily upon hearing Bilbo’s inquiry for a moment before he sighed and told the hobbit of his reason for visiting. “I am looking for someone to share in an adventure.”

 

Something in Bilbo broke upon hearing those words.

 

Adventures were dangerous— deadly, even.

 

Even more so if those adventures involved him.

 

He wanted to deny the wizard’s clear request. He wanted to send Gandalf away. To tell him that there was _no one_ interested in adventures. That he had come to the wrong place in search of a traveling companion. Taking a deep breath, he chuckled —though it sounded weak to his own ears— and shook his head ruefully at the wizard. “Well, I can't imagine anyone west of Bree would be wanting an adventure.” He replied, feigning cluelessness at what the wizard truly meant.

He heard Gandalf let out a huff, “Bilbo, you know better than I that you are well-suited for this.” Bilbo only barked out a laugh. The faith the Maia held in him was touching, but Bilbo found that he could not lead Gandalf to believe him capable of any adventures.

“Well-suited?” Bilbo looked at the wizard incredulously, “Gandalf, I can barely look at anything beyond the borders of the Shire without having an episode.” He hissed at the Maia, who looked at him with a calm unreadable expression. “What makes you think I am capable of gallivanting off to Eru-only-knows-where with who-knows-what kind of characters you bring?” The thought alone of having to face a journey that may lead to his death made him shudder, it made him sick to just think of what may happen.

_How the mighty has fallen._ He thought with a bitter twist to his mouth.

“I know you can do this, Bilbo.” The wizard spoke with such surety that Bilbo felt that his belief was far too misplaced. “And knowing you, you would not be able to deny aid to those who need it most.”

Bilbo _wanted_ to deny the Maia, he wanted more than anything to make it clear that he would not be able to help everyone if it was only him. He shook his head. “I can't, Olórin.” He whispered, feeling phantom fingers wrapping around his neck and stealing his breath away. “Please don't make me.” Shutting his eyes tight, he bit his lip. He was reduced to begging that he would not be forced to join any adventures Gandalf thought of and wasn't that something? A Herald of old, falling so _low_.

Not wanting to see the disappointed expression on the wizard’s face, he made his way back inside his smial, taking his mail from its’ box on his way in. “If you truly need a companion, Olórin, you can look Over-the-Hill or Across-the-Water for anyone willing to join.” He would have offered Lobelia but he knew that she would not agree to such a thing. He paused when he opened his door and looked at Gandalf, “Good morning, and I'm sorry.”

 

* * *

 

He slammed the door shut and sank to the ground, his mind screaming so many things at him. Some parts of his thoughts were coaxing for him to hear what the Maia had to say, the other was reminding him of all the horrors that Gandalf could only hope to see.

The image of his golden-haired saviour held up in chains was burned in his mind’s eye and he nearly doubled over in nausea as he remembered the image of sharp gauntlets shoving their way into his saviour’s stomach.

“I'm no hero.” Bilbo choked out, covering his face with his hands and shuddering, “Please don't make me into one.”

_“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He had gasped out, sobs wracking his frame as he embraced the younger dwarrow who returned the gesture with a tighter hold._

_“Go back to the West, greet the sun and learn to smile.” A tired smile graced those lips. Bilbo found no words capable of leaving him, he only managed to close his eyes and to press his forehead against the fair-haired dwarrow’s._

_“Thank you.” He rasped out, more tears slipping from his eyes._

He did not realise he was sobbing —all he could hear was Haleth shouting a warning, all he see were turquoise eyes looking at him with concern when he looked behind him as he, Glorfindel, and Bandobras ran from their prison— and his body shook with the grief he had long held in him.


	3. You're Gonna Be Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo isn't alone in dealing with his dark moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here's chapter three! I hope you're enjoying this so far! And I promise I'm trying to do Unexpected Party but Hamfast and Lobelia takes up this chapter and it's good really! But yeah, we have Nice!(ish)Lobelia and Hamfast and they're always the best for Bilbo in here to cope properly. :D
> 
> Again, special thanks to [DisKingOfErebor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisKingOfErebor/pseuds/DisKingOfErebor) for being an amazing beta and helping me out with this chapter! 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this and again, comments would be much appreciated :) I'd love to hear what you think of it.

_Just take, one step, closer_  
_Put one foot in front of the other_  
_You'll, get through this_  
_Just follow the light in the darkness_  
_You're gonna be ok_ ay

* * *

 

Bilbo didn't know how long he stayed there trembling and sobbing on the floor of Bag End— nor did he know when he fell asleep due to exhaustion. He _did_ know when the door was pushed open, though all he remembered was a flash of fear before his instincts took over. The cold mist gathered in his hand and he called for his Honourblade before pinning the intruder against the wall, his weapon threatening to pierce the trespasser’s neck.

He saw the sharp eyes of Lobelia looking back at him, her lips pressed together in a thin line. “You weren’t answering.” She spoke calmly, a hand coming up to his and gently pushing his blade hand away, “It’s time for afternoon tea and I figured I’d save your reputation by making sure you were aware of the time.” She sniffed with false disdain and Bilbo found himself watching her in shock.

He’d almost _killed_ Lobelia.

Unbidden, a memory rose to mind.

_“Mister Bilbo, Heralds protect us right?”_

_Bilbo looked down at the small girl with wild black curls who was watching him with curious eyes. Where was her mother? He bit his lip awkwardly before shrugging. “I-I suppose that that’s one way to put it.” Bilbo stammered, unsure if he and his group were truly protecting the entire world. “B-but I’m not certain that that is truly what we-”_

_The tight embrace the girl had given him in response surprised Bilbo into silence._

_“Thank you, Mister Bilbo!” Pulling away, she smiled widely, “I hope you won’t get sad a lot now that you know that you and your friends keep us safe. All of you should be proud of that!”_

_Bilbo managed to smile back at the young girl’s comment, realizing shortly after that that was his first_ **_real_ ** _smile in five decades._

The sound of clattering and muttered recipes from the kitchen pulled Bilbo out of his memory and when he looked, he found Lobelia puttering about as she set about preparing for their afternoon tea.

“Bilbo, _honestly_ . Your kitchen is a _horrible_ mess and you didn’t even finish the pot of tea you’d made!” Bilbo rolled his eyes at Lobelia’s rant as she went inside his pantry and brought out the muffins he’d baked earlier that day. “It’s a wonder that Bag End is still habitable.” She muttered under her breath.

He sighed and rubbed his face roughly with his hand before he shot her a tired glare. “Lobelia, we both know you never go to afternoon tea.” He cut her tirade off and she looked at him with narrowed eyes. The older hobbit didn’t back down from the wild-haired woman, raising a brow at her instead.

Lobelia only raised her chin at him. “We’ll talk later Bilbo, but for now let’s just have tea.” There was no choice given to him as she picked up the tray with tea things carefully set on it and herded him into his parlour where she set down the tray and gestured for him to sit.

 “ _Honestly_ , ordering me around my own smial.” He muttered as he plopped himself onto his father’s favourite chair and glared at her as she patiently stirred her tea with what was a hideous amount of sugar.

They sat in his parlour sipping their tea and nibbling on their muffins in silence for a few minutes before Bilbo decided that enough was enough. Lobelia _rarely_ visited him these days as he was faring better than he had been since he arrived in the Shire after who knows how long. Setting his teacup down gently, he eyed Lobelia before clearing his throat, intending to ask the purpose of her visit. “Lobelia-”

 “I saw that _wizard_.” The spiteful tone she used jarred him and Bilbo gaped at her as he shook his head.

 “And?” He prompted her to continue, though a part of him had already realised why she spoke so venomously of one whose fireworks she had loved so dearly.

 “Did he say anything?” She asked sharply, her gaze boring into him and searching for any sign that he had broken more. “Did he _do_ anything Bilbo?”

 Bilbo swallowed thickly and found that he couldn’t meet her eyes.

 Lobelia had stepped in and started to help care for him when it was clear that he couldn’t cope properly in the Shire and that anything could set him off. And while he _was_ grateful for her help, he found himself unable to admit to anything that might have set him off or had already done so.

 “Bilbo.” Her tone was sharper and he looked at her, her brows were knitted together as she looked at him, “Did. He. Do. Anything?”

 He knew the right thing to do was to tell her so that she might be able to help him through the overflowing memories swarming in his mind.

 Instead, he smiled as brightly as he could and shook his head, “Gandalf just came to ask how I fared and then he left. I’m perfectly fine, Lobelia.” He prayed that Lobelia did not hear the lie in his voice. He did not need her to be any more worried about him than she already was.

 There was a moment that Lobelia looked at him doubtfully before huffing and taking a small sip of her tea. “If you say so, Bilbo.”

 No more words were spoken between them about Gandalf and by the time tea had ended, Bilbo thanked Lobelia for her company and Lobelia promised him that she would be joining him for dinner so that he wouldn’t be lonely.

 He did not call her out on her lie, nor did he deny his loneliness.

 

* * *

 

He spent the rest of his day hidden away in his study, writing to Elrond and Glorfindel asking forgiveness for his absence and writing excuses as to why. He had already sent his letter to Thranduil and Legolas earlier that year, and Bullroarer was nowhere to be found to give him updates. No doubt beyond the Shire’s borders waiting patiently for Durin— a point which Bilbo refused to even think of going past.

Hearing three knocks followed by his bell ringing, Bilbo let out a shaky breath. _Hamfast_.

Only Hamfast figured out his need to know who was outside his door. Lobelia always enters without any question, confident that he won’t harm her, but Hamfast knows. His gardener knew Bilbo couldn’t trust himself not to hurt the people he cared about.

Hamfast had approached Bilbo once and informed his weary employer of how he would know if it was him or not. Three knocks followed by his bell ringing is what Hamfast told him, and he’d heard that signal many times over.

Even before Hamfast had stopped blaming him, even after the Fell Winter, after everything Bilbo put him through, those signals always came to reassure Bilbo that the one behind his door was familiar to him.

And when he _was_ forgiven, when Hamfast sat by his bedside to assure him that he was not in Mordor, when Hamfast would visit to clean Bag End when Bilbo could not move an inch, he found that he could never look his friend in the eye. Hamfast had lost so much and it was always by _Bilbo’s_ hands.

Even though Bilbo had done so much to make his friend hate him, Hamfast always returned when days were sour and he couldn’t leave his bed. And when he returned, that simple signal was always a welcome noise in the dead silence of his halls.

Forcing himself to move, Bilbo walked slowly to his door, feeling as if he was walking to his execution. Taking in a sharp breath, he opened his door, half-expecting a furious expression on Hamfast’s face to greet him, only to be greeted by a worried face and for Hamfast to hold his hands up and carefully pull Bilbo into a gentle embrace.

Bilbo froze before he reciprocated the embrace. “Hamfast?” Bilbo choked out, his friend only hushed him and patted his back.

“Lobelia told me an’ I know.” Bilbo felt his heart stop beating and he wanted to act like he didn’t understand... but how many times had Bilbo denied his fears? How many times had Hamfast helped him through those same fears? It should be no surprise by now that the man whose son he killed would know of his turmoils.

“I-I’m alright.” He whispered softly, though he felt Hamfast shake his head.

“Mister Bilbo, your eyes’re bloodshot like you get on sour days.” Hamfast said as he ushered Bilbo back inside. “Whatever Mister Gandalf did must be enough to shake you badly.”

Bilbo wanted to protest– to tell them he was fine, but Hamfast just hushed him and ushered him back to his study.

“Now, you sit right there and write what you were writin’, I’ll just be here ‘til a little before sundown when Bell will need me to wrangle the little ones.” Bilbo opened his mouth to protest, but he was met by Hamfast’s stern gaze. “An’ don’t fight me on this, Mister Bilbo.”

Bilbo sighed and shook his head. “Neither of you should be bothering with me. I can survive without being coddled like a child.” He spoke softly as he allowed himself to be lulled into a trancelike peace at the sound of his quill scratching upon his parchment. “Lobelia has a husband and son to care for, and you have Bell and _your_ children. I can manage.” He spoke as if it were just him inside his study, with the delicate curves of his letters being the only things he saw.

“Don’t say that, Mister Bilbo,” Hamfast’s voice was stern, and when Bilbo looked up he was alarmed to see Hamfast so close to him that he almost felt his heart stop.

“Ham-”

“Don’t even _think_ that you’re not worth our care an’ attention, Mister Bilbo.” Hamfast said sharply, his brows furrowing when he spoke, “Lobelia an’ me are happy enough to help you. You’re family to us, Mister Bilbo.” The sincerity in his friend’s voice warmed Bilbo, but a part of him wanted to remind Hamfast that it was all because of _him_ that Hamfast was short one child.

That his godson wouldn’t ever get to be teased about blooming romances.

That Hamson would never see the fireworks on Midsummer’s Eve.

Nor would he meet Elrond and Glorfindel at Lithe.

Hamson would never hear Legolas and Thranduil sing along to their drinking songs as they struggled to keep up with the hobbits’ fast-paced dances.

Bilbo wanted Hamfast to open his eyes and to hate him –knowing full well he deserved it– but Hamfast only smiled, took hold of his hand and squeezed it, ignoring the ink that stained his skin.

“We care for you, Mister Bilbo an’ we’d be very sorry if something ever happened to you.”  Hamfast said gently. “Every moment we spend with you isn’t time lost or wasted, Mister Bilbo.”

Bilbo nodded, his voice lost at Hamfast’s words. He knew Hamfast would say that but it never stopped making him surprised at his friend’s kindness.

Giving his hand one more squeeze, Hamfast settled back down in his seat as he talked of the simplest things, such as how Bell was doing well, but the children were giving him grey hairs. How Lobelia had a run in with Bullroarer the day before last and had given him a good meal while waiting for the day to end with him. How Hamfast had spent the day before teaching his youngest how to handle scythes. How Bilbo missed a good show of a run from three Tooks and a Brandybuck that thought it smart to steal from Farmer Maggot. How Hamfast and Lobelia had visited Old Mister and Missus Baggins and cleaned their graves for Bilbo and even planted some forget-me-nots there.

All the chatter was enough to comfort Bilbo and to help him pretend that nothing was amiss as he scribbled his notes. By the time he was finished, the sun was just going down and Hamfast was preparing to leave. “Thank you for the company, Hamfast.” Bilbo said as he allowed himself to be pulled into a tight embrace by his gardener.

“Not a problem, Mister Bilbo.” Hamfast assured him with a pat on the back, “I don’t want you forgettin’ that you have people here for you.”

By the time Hamfast had left, Bilbo was about ready to sleep. He didn’t feel like eating, and _hopefully_ Lobelia had forgotten her promise for dinner.

So, of _course_ his bell chose that exact second to ring.

He bit back a curse.

 

* * *

 

Lobelia had bustled inside his smial the moment he opened the door, her arms laden with groceries as she tutted about the ink staining his hands and his red rimmed eyes. Bilbo let out a tired sigh and followed her along, watching her as she moved about the kitchen. She took a pot from a shelf and some knives from his knife block, all the while ranting about how she couldn’t seem to track Bullroarer down for dinner and how she sent her boys to accompany him with some of the Bounders that could afford some time away from their duties.

“Lobelia, you didn’t send your family away just to be with me...right?” Bilbo spoke cautiously, nervous to hear what Lobelia had done.

Lobelia laughed. “As if I can make those two as compliant as a Bagginsish Baggins!” She snorted, “No, I had only mentioned my dinner with Bullroarer the day before and they both agreed that it was high-time Bull had more company. They then went out to recruit the Bounders to make a party fine enough for any lonely hobbit!” She grinned, “Bull will hopefully appreciate the gesture.”

Bilbo shrugged, “Bull would, and he would love to have people listen to his stories again.” He would have joined that party had he been a more stable hobbit, but he was not.

Lobelia worked in silence with a bit of unneeded ferocity. Seeing how he wasn’t needed there, he excused himself and locked himself in his study again. Dipping his quill in his inkwell, he bit his lip and thought carefully. He’d promised Glorfindel a song and he’d thrown away every draft he had made thus far, but with Lobelia working in his kitchen, he was filled with a longing for peace. No doubt his kin felt the same. Setting his quill upon the parchment, he began scratching out the words that came to mind.

_Lay down your sweet and weary head..._


	4. An Unexpected Party (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an unexpected party begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! How long has it been since I updated this fic? Anyway, I'm sorry for the late update ~~as in super late~~ but hey, at least I'm going to update it now! I was just unmotivated for awhile and all that but hey, I'll get through to this slowly, but surely!

Bilbo had been halfway through his song when Lobelia called him for dinner. He had wanted to decline but he knew that if he did Lobelia would stomp into his room and drag him to the dining room by the ear if necessary.

 

Making his way to the dining room, he looked at Lobelia and took note of the foodstuffs she'd cooked. It looked like she was planning on feeding him, and her husband and son, with the spread she'd made. She looked at him with raised brows as if daring him to say anything about the quantity she had prepared. 

 

Bilbo sighed. “I will not comment on what you will eat.” He assured her, thinking that she was waiting for him to tease her for her very hobbitish appetite. Which, while partially true, was not what he intended to do.

 

Lobelia gave an undignified snort. “What  _ we  _ will eat, Bilbo.” She corrected, her lips curling into a devilish smile.

 

Bilbo had to stop the groan that threatened to leave his lips, opting instead to pinch the bridge of his nose and knitting his brows together. “Lobelia please-”

 

“I'm not leaving until you at least try to eat something past what you pick at.” She explained and sat primly down in her seat, “And don't think that I don’t notice you playing with your food. You barely eat the food  _ you _ make.” She added, her eyes narrowing.

 

Bilbo sighed and nodded. Lobelia and Hamfast were too kind to him. 

 

And they worried too much. 

 

Heralds could not die of starvation because Eru forbade they die an embarrassing death. They can  _ starve _ , but can not starve to  _ death _ .It was a constant part of their torture in their days as captives. 

 

He would admit that Lobelia and Hamfast’s worry was touching, but it was rather unnecessary.

 

Though even if he told Hamfast and Lobelia this  -which he had,  _ countless _ times already- the two still refused to leave him be. And looking at Lobelia’s sharp gaze, Bilbo knew better than to remind her of his inability to die of starvation. So he simply took a seat and raised his brows at her almost in question of if his actions were acceptable or not.

 

The huff he received was enough of an answer for him.

 

Lobelia had elected to serve him a selection of almost every dish she'd cooked and was about to pour him a glass of wine when his doorbell rang. 

 

He supposed the mutinous expression on her face was not meant to be amusing but it was. Though he supposed it was because the expression was not directed at him that he was not frightened at all of anything Lobelia may do.

 

“Let me answer that, Lobelia.” He did not wait for her response and had walked off to the door, leaving his companion to mutter what he assumed were curses and insults at whoever was behind his door.

 

It might just be Otho and Lotho coming back from their dinner party with Bullroarer. Good. They could help him by finishing up all the food that Lobelia and he wouldn’t be able to polish off on their own.

 

However, the moment he opened the door, he found the person behind his door was not hobbits. Not even a lone hobbit. 

 

It was a  _ dwarf _ .

 

A dwarf that towered over him, had axes on his back, and knuckle dusters attached to his hand. Bilbo was still as stone for a few moments and was trying to find his voice to speak to the dwarf, but it took him a few moments to respond properly. “Good evening.” He said, surprised that his voice only trembled in the slightest manner

 

The dwarf looked like he couldn't be bothered about his vocal inflections. Which might explain Bilbo’s surprise when the dwarf bowed to him. (Thinking of all he knew of dwarves though, he shouldn't be surprised. Durin used to do that too.)

 

“Dwalin, at your service.” 

 

It was as if his mind blanked out and he forgot the proper response. A part of him wanted to think of responding with how he had been greeted with by Durin until he remembered that gentle tugging of the hair and forehead touches were intimate. Swallowing past the dryness in his throat, he straightened out his shirt and made to hide his wrists from view. 

 

_ You have nothing to hide, Stoneward. The glamour is fading but not so quickly that they will see your scars. _

 

“Bi-Bilbo Baggins,” He rasped out, his hands clenching and unclenching as he forced himself to look at the dwarf, his chest tightening at the sight, “at yours and your family’s.”

 

He supposed it was a surprise for the dwarf that he knew the proper response, but it was only thanks to Durin. He owed a lot to them, so much so that he could not even  _ begin _ repaying his debt to the dwarven Herald. Shaking his head, he looked at Dwalin.

 

It looked like he had traveled a great distance with all of the dust on him and with how worn his cloak looked. Or perhaps he couldn’t afford a new one? He was unsure now. Perhaps it was both. He would not be surprised if it were.

 

“May I help you, Master Dwarf?” He asked, a hand going up to his shirt to try and hide more of his exposed skin as his mind whispered of his vulnerability. Of the possibility of having his throat slit and having wires knotted into the bleeding gash in his throat to allow the wound to heal around it. Then it would be ripped from his flesh-

 

He was unaware that he stopped breathing until the dwarf -Dwalin, his mind supplied- cleared his throat. He forced a deep breath into his lungs -yet, why did it feel like he was swallowing ash and fire?- and looked at the dwarf. “I apologise, I must be bothering you too much.” He sighed and rubbed at his face, a trembling hand going to his throat as he attempted to keep his skin from view. He stepped aside and gestured the dwarf to enter, “We can discuss this during dinner.” Without waiting, he took the Dwarf’s cloak and hung it on a peg before gesturing to a coat room that was empty nowadays.

 

_ Back then, it would be filled with the coats of every guest that could fit into Bag End. Home would always have such loud laughter, and Mother and Father would have been laughing with the guests.  _

 

Now it was a constant deafening silence. He both revered and reviled it.

 

“You shall store your weapons there.” It was what Durin had advised him when freedom was granted them. Durin had known his melancholy drowning in silence and had sought to help him through it.

 

While the Dwarf was off doing as he was told, -a rare occurrence, but he would assume it was due to eagerness for a hot meal- Bilbo had gone off to speak to Lobelia about their guest. The moment he had entered the dining room however, he saw her already placing extra plates on the table. Three of them. 

 

“Tell Otho, Lotho, and Bullroarer that they have no chance of touching this meal if they refuse to wash before eating.” 

 

He shook his head and approached her. “I’m afraid it is none them that have come.” He muttered to her as he slid his plate onto the place where one of the empty plates was.

 

Before Lobelia had a chance to even ask, Bilbo heard the heavy clunking footsteps of a dwarf. He looked up with a false smile, a hand finally adjusting his collar to hide the skin of his neck.

 

“Master Dwalin!” Though he could feel the tremble of each step he took, he managed to make it to the dwarf and to gesture to the table laden with food, “The filled plate there is yours.”

 

He’ll just pretend Lobelia didn’t glare at him as he allowed Dwalin to sit at the head of his table. It was a better distraction for her anyway. Although he felt himself stiffen when the dwarf glanced at him and Lobelia.

 

“I was told that you weren’t married, lad.” 

 

Bilbo choked and shot Lobelia a horrified look. She, however, was already in the process of rolling her eyes.

 

“Me? Marry a Took-Baggins?” She snorted, “Ridiculous, I’d sooner give them striped yellow carnations before I even think of presenting them lungworts encased in amber!”

 

Bilbo’s lips twitched in amusement at the sight of confusion on the dwarf’s face. He never did see Lobelia grow out of her tendency to ramble away over very Hobbitish terms in the company of non-Hobbits. It was something that always amused and impressed him.

 

Deciding to ease the dwarf’s confusion, he shook his head. “Missus Sackville-Baggins-”

 

“Lobelia.” She interrupted with a sharp glare. 

 

Bilbo sighed and rubbed his face. “ _ Lobelia _ , is not my wife, Master Dwarf.” He explained calmly, “She is a distant cousin on my father’s side.”

 

Or at least. That was what the people of the Shire would tell anyone who met him and a Baggins together. And they were not wrong in this. 

 

For the most part.

 

“ _ Very _ distant cousin.” Lobelia finished, glaring at the dwarf. Bilbo shook his head and gestured for them to eat.

 

It was at that very moment that the doorbell rang again.

 

It was distant in his thoughts but Bilbo was partially aware of one thing. This was no chance meeting, but was orchestrated by a Maia he had begged not to force him into a role he had lost all rights to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a pretty short chapter, but bear with me for a bit! It'll get longer, I promise! And please don't be scared to tell me what you think! They help motivate me in writing!
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Translations:**  
>  **CARNATIONS (STRIPED, YELLOW)** \- Rejection, Disdain, You have disappointed me  
>  **LUNGWORT** \- Thou Art My Life  
>  **AMBER** \- helps to balance the emotions, clear the mind and release negative energy. It aids manifestation, eases stress by clearing phobias and fears.


End file.
